Against the World
by Herenya902
Summary: Starfleet has labeled Jim a traitor. He's innocent, but the evidence him is overwhelming. The only logical ending is his conviction...and Spock's anger. When the Vulcan visits, however, their conversation is not what Jim expected.


A/N Here's a really short one-shot from a tumblr prompt. An anon wanted something where Jim was considered a traitor by Starfleet and expects Spock to think he's guilty. Here's my take on that prompt.

Jim didn't move when he heard the door chime, his gaze never leaving the amber liquid at the bottom of his glass. Strange, that such a dangerous liquid could seem so beautiful in the fading light of the San Fransisco sunset.

The door chimed again.

He knew who was on the other side of the door, he could feel him at the edge of his mind through the bond that connected them. They had never spoken about it—Jim didn't even remember when he had become aware of it—and now they likely never would. Still, Jim didn't get up. He had made his choice and had known the consequences, but this one he wasn't ready to face. To see the hatred in his eyes...it was simply too much.

A long sigh fell from his lips and he picked up his glass, sloshing the liquid inside. He brought it to his lips and was about to let it slide down his throat—it would burn, but it would feel so much better than this numbness—when he heard the unmistakable click of his door unlocking. Ah, yes. The override code. His apartment was one of the newer ones that used solely electronic means of locking, and he had given the code to override those locks to two people. He had expected Bones to use it, but not this.

He set the glass back on the table just as the door swung open.

The figure in the doorway did not move for several seconds, and Jim found himself paralyzed. Part of him wanted to continue drinking and ignore the man who had just entered his home-turned-prison. Part of him wanted to kneel at his feet and beg forgiveness until his throat was raw and his voice was hoarse. Part of him wanted to hear the man yell, reprimand him in some way. In the end, he could do nothing but stare.

After an eternity, the man stepped further into the apartment. After the first few steps he paused, but when Jim didn't stop him—he had never been able to stop him, to deny him—he strode across the living room until he was standing on the other side of the glass coffee table. Jim turned his gaze back to the glass in his hand.

"How'd you get the guard dogs outside of my door to stand down?" he asked, speaking more to his drink than the man across from him. He tried to inject some humor into his voice and failed miserably.

"I outrank the 'guard dogs', and you have not been forbidden from seeing visitors."

It had only been a few days since he had last heard the man's voice, but its rich sound resonated in his very soul. Funny how it could do that, make him feel when he had been nothing but numb for those days. But the voice lacked emotion, even more so than it usually did, and Jim needed to know what the Vulcan was thinking. And so, slowly, he looked up, meeting Spock's piercing gaze.

"Why?" The question was nothing more than a whisper. "Why are you here, Spock?"

"You were not answering my or any other crewmember's attempts at communication, Captain," he responded simply, his expression giving nothing away.

Jim shook his head, still unable to look away. "Not Captain anymore, Spock. I've been suspended pending the completion of the trial. I bet the brass'll have an offer of captaincy on your desk within a minute of the verdict."

Something in Spock's face shifted, although what Jim saw still wasn't the anger that he had expected. After all he had done, why wouldn't Spock be angry? He had every right to be, every right and more, and yet he waited. Why? Jim knew he deserved the Vulcan's wrath.

"You sound as if you expect to be found guilty."

Jim blinked at the Vulcan. What did that mean? Had Spock not seen the mountain of evidence that had been piled up against him? Any jury with sense would convict him. So why did were Spock's eyebrows pulled together in that way they always got when he was surprised?

Finally, Jim set his glass back down on the table and found his voice again. "My defense rests on my captain's log and the word a deserter," he stated tonelessly. "Starfleet has no choice but to convict me. Anything else and it will look like some kind of political cover-up, and public opinion is bad enough right now as it is." His stomach turned as he said the words. He knew they were the truth, but saying them aloud felt just as painful as stabbing himself in the gut would have.

Spock was silent for several moments, but Jim didn't have the strength to look back up at him. This conversation hadn't gone at all the way he had expected, and he was waiting for something to snap. All of the evidence was pointed against him. Logically...logically Spock shouldn't believe him. At this point, Jim wasn't even sure if he believed in his own innocence anymore.

As always, however, Spock continued to surprise him. "Jim, you are not alone in this fight. The Enterprise and her crew stand ready to defend you, and we will find a way to prove your innocence. Allow us, allow me, to help you."

Jim's throat burned, and not from the alcohol he hadn't finished. Suppressed sobs, it seemed had the same effect. Before he knew it, he was shaking with the force of them, biting down on his lip hard enough to taste the metallic tang of his own blood. That pain focused him somewhat, and he was aware of the couch dipping as Spock sat beside him.

He could almost feel the Vulcan's concern in his mind, and the faint emotion only caused his sobs to renew once more. After several minutes, his lip now torn and bloodied, he was able to control them enough to croak out a broken, "No, Spock."

The concern at the edge of his mind intensified, and Jim could feel Spock lean closer, his hand hovering above the skin of his arm but not quite making contact. "Why, Jim? You are innocent; you should not be punished for the crimes of another."

Jim swallowed thickly, blood and saliva nearly choking him on the way down. Then he shook his head once again. "7,000 people, Spock. 7,000 people died and the Federation is blaming me. If you and the rest of the crew stand up for me, it'll look like you had something to do with it, and I can't let that happen." He turned his head slowly, catching Spock's eyes with his own. "Please, Spock. I would rather lose my captaincy, freedom, and reputation than see that happen to any of you." Especially Spock.

The mask that Spock was wearing had begun to crack, and Jim could see conflict in his eyes when he said, "I do not understand. Why are you so willing to throw your life away so needlessly? We will uncover the proof of your innocence that is needed to secure your release."

Jim opened his mouth, then closed it again. How could he explain the way his very being seemed to burn in rage at the thought of someone doubting his crew, doubting Spock, because of their relationship to him. He had seen what public trials could do to a person, even if that person was later found innocent. The respect that they had once commanded is shattered forever. He couldn't let that happen to his crew.

"I do not fear to stand by your side, Jim. I have done so for nearly five years, and I intend to continue to do so for as long as you will allow me to." Something in the Vulcan's voice had changed, and the hand that had been hovering over his arm moved up to his shoulder and squeezed. It was all Jim could do not to lean into the touch.

"This isn't the same, Spock. This isn't a negotiation with some hostile world or a battle against a disease or a computer or Klingons. This is a battle at home." Jim sighed, and suddenly, he was exhausted. He had been for days, but this was something different. It went beyond the simple heaviness of his limbs and eyelids to his very bones, his very soul. For almost five years he had been exploring and negotiating and fighting and always pushing until he got his way, or at the very least made sure his crew was safe. Now, he wasn't sure he could go on.

"That does not dim my desire to stay by your side," Spock replied, his voice sure, grounding Jim in a way that only he had ever been able to do. "I do not intend to allow anyone to take you from me."

Maybe the words should have sounded strange. To an outsider, they would have. But to Jim, they were just a verbal almost-confirmation of something they both knew but had never dared to say out loud. The bond between them brightened in his mind, and Jim felt the faintest hint of affection radiating from it. He leaned into that feeling, both mentally and physically, and soon he was wrapped in Spock's arms and it felt like safety, like peace.

"Thank you, Spock," he whispered into the Vulcan's shoulder, tears prickling at his eyes. "Thank you for believing me." He curled his fingers into the fabric of the man's shirt, allowing himself this moment of vulnerability. He had never needed to be strong in front of Spock; the Vulcan knew him too well.

"How could I not, Jim? Our minds are one." The bond brightened again, and this time Jim knew that Spock was purposefully sending waves of reassurance and strength across it. He tried—as much as his untrained mind could—to send his appreciation, and his love, in return. Spock's arms tightened around him, and Jim knew that the Vulcan understood, just as he always did.

Still, he needed to say the words out loud; he didn't know when he would get the chance to do so again.

"I love you, Spock," he whispered, pulling away from the Vulcan just enough to meet his eyes.

The corners of Spock's mouth turned up in that small smile that made Jim's heart turn circles in his chest, and for a few moments, Jim forgot all about the trial, about being named a traitor, about the numbness he had felt for the last four days. All there was was Spock, and the Vulcan was more than enough.

"I love you as well, Jim," he intoned quietly, and the warmth in the words made Jim want to melt. "Now sleep. I will find a way to ensure your freedom."

Jim thought about protesting, but then Spock pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head, and his eyes slid shut involuntarily. Before sleep claimed him, however, he managed to entangle one of his hands in Spock's. His last coherent thought was the conviction that somehow, together, they would make it through this.

A/N So, that is officially the shortest thing I've written in years, I think. I wrote it all in one sitting and it's probably an incoherent mess, but if not and it actually made sense, leave me a comment and let me know what you thought. I would really appreciate it! Thanks for reading, my friends!


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